A/N: Recently I read "The House on Mango Street" by Sandra Cisneros, and I like the idea of having multiple "vignettes" in a collection, as others have done. What with my lack of endurance (working on that :D), I come up with many one-shot ideas, many revolving around Sonic X, my favorite of the four Sonic cartoons.

These vignettes follow no specific order unless stated otherwise (that is to say, I'll post them the order I write them in unless I intend something special. :P). I will state the universe, time frame, and POV of the vignette at the beginning of each chapter.

Please let me know what you think!

Rhythm

Sonic X Season 2 (a bit of Season 3), Chuck POV

Lindsey was always a spontaneous girl—she could fix her mind almost as fast as Sonic could do a U-turn—and once she'd made her decision, it was considered impossible to make her change her mind. Adding that to her overreaction to many things, it came as no surprise to me or Nelson that she panicked after finding out that Chris, at the age of twelve, knew the tune but not the composer or title of Chopin's Grande Valse Brilliante. The fact that she'd bought a piano and arranged for piano lessons was slightly more shocking, especially for Chris himself, but ultimately I came to the conclusion that she would have done it sooner or later.

Of course, just because we Thorndykes and even Ella and Tanaka were used to it didn't account for Chris's friends.

"Your mom is making you take what?"

That was Tails, after everyone gathered around the parlor to watch the sleek black upright piano being moved in.

"My mom said I need more music in my life." There was a hint of exasperation in the smile as he explained, rubbing the back of his neck.

"That's great!" Amy chimed in. "I've taken lessons before, but I had to quit."

"Why?"

She ignored the question.

"I'm sure you'll be great at it!" Cream remarked, ever cheerful. "I know a little bit from what Mama has taught me, right, Mama?" Her mother nodded and Cheese chirruped in assent.

As interesting as it was to find out the others' varying degrees of prior music education, none of these was quite so intriguing as Sonic's response—and he said nothing at all. The blue hedgehog merely stood by silently, watching. One could call this normal, but I thought I saw a different look in his eyes. He was looking at the piano but wasn't at the same time—as if he was looking through it. Like he was remembering something, from a different time and place. I made a mental note to ask either him or his friends about it sometime.

Unfortunately, I forgot the mental note soon afterwards and didn't get the chance to ask.

The piano teacher who came by on Friday at the stroke of four was a proper but gentle, older woman with fine gray hair and smile wrinkles—Mrs. Topensky, but she insisted we call her "Janine". With the look of a kind grandmother and a soothing voice, she clearly had the patience for dealing with younger or inexperienced students.

This was good, because from the first lesson, Chris was definitely no Mozart.

We all watched or heard in some form or another the first lesson—standing in doorways, pausing in our work occasionally, looking over the banister, as he learned basic notes and rhythms. Some of this he had learned in music class at school, some he hadn't. He plinked out Mary Had a Little Lamb. Twinkle Twinkle. He clapped out basic rhythms. One, two, three, four. The lesson ended at half past four, Chris slightly exasperated and Ella slightly relieved.

Sonic was there the whole time, wordlessly watching with that same reminiscing look on his face.

As the weeks went by, slight exasperation turned into irritation on Chris's part. You missed a note there, dear. You skipped that rest. That's an E, dear, not a C. We're in G Major, so that's an F sharp. Sometimes it actually sounded like nice music, but almost just as often there was a sharp bang or a sour note following. Ella excused herself to do outside chores. He practiced dutifully every day at the same time for that half hour so Tails knew when to shut the doors if he was working. Occasionally Lindsey or Nelson would stop by during one of the lessons and insist on sitting through it—by their strained smiles by the end, I could tell how the lesson went.

But Sonic never missed a lesson.

Whether anyone else noticed, I didn't know, but I personally found that rather strange. The others seemed to settle into some sort of schedule—while they never "stuck" to anything, at the very least we knew when they'd be home—except for him. Even after all these months, I still hadn't figured out what he did during those strange hours when he was gone, and what the pattern was to his comings and goings, if there was one at all. Some days he was at breakfast with us, some days it was lunch, some days it was dinner, sometimes a combination of them, and sometimes we saw neither hide nor quill of him all day. Sometimes I'd walk past the empty balcony, and upon coming back five minutes later, he'd be there, fast asleep. I could wake up in the middle of the night, and he'd be watching TV (sitting too close to the screen, as usual), and when I woke in the morning Chris would be looking for him in vain. His friends, however, seemed to take this as normal. Cream remarked, "Oh, Mr. Sonic goes everywhere!", Amy fumed about how he always conveniently "missed" their "dates", and Tails just laughed, saying, "Well, what do you expect?" Even Vanilla brushed it off: "It seems to do him lots of good."

But he always found his way back on Friday afternoons once the piano came.

Regardless of what he'd been doing before, at around five to four, he'd be sitting close by: on the couch, in the corner, the window seat. Janine always arrived at four, and although startled at first to see him there, she eventually became accustomed enough to his presence that she'd look about and say a cheerful "good afternoon" to him before beginning.

One day, she couldn't find him, and she asked Chris, "Where's Sonic?"

"Up here," a voice called from the rafters.

Both of them looked up, and there he was, sitting casually on the narrow beams, arms crossed behind his head. Janine looked startled ("How on Earth did you get up there?"), and Chris laughed.

Most of the time, however, he would just sit there silently, not speaking other than responding briefly to that "good afternoon". Sometimes he'd close his eyes, sometimes he'd jiggle his foot in time with the beat, and sometimes he'd just watch with a half-smile on his face—always with that same look of remembering past days. Then, once the lesson ended, he'd leap up and be gone in a flash, as if he'd never been there at all. Again, this was strange, but nobody ever bothered to explain.

Exasperation grew—the sour notes were more frequent, and often Chris adopted a tight-lipped look as he practiced. Ella actually put her mind to washing the windows, and doors closed more often. The strain was even showing on Janine and Vanilla's faces. Some days Chris skipped practice for a day—to which Lindsey would scold him, but there was a hint of palpable relief. Once I overheard her remarking to Nelson that maybe they should stop lessons.

The only one who didn't seem bothered by it was, again, Sonic.

It was also Lindsey's idea to pack everyone up and head to the beach for a day—she even insisted Nelson take the day off to spend time with the family and invited Ella and Tanaka to come along. "Everyone has to come," she'd declared the night before at dinner. Naturally, everyone got excited about it except for Sonic, who conveniently vanished the next morning.

"He can't swim," Tails explained with a sheepish smile when Lindsey demanded a "good reason as to why he should miss out".

"A world hero and he can't swim? Well, he can learn, can't he? Then he'll get over his fear in a jiffy!"

Nobody bothered to explain to her that he couldn't swim because he hated water, not the other way around.

Sonic never showed up, but we had a good time nonetheless. Amy walked up and down the beach collecting shells ("For Sonic," she'd said). Cream and Cheese built a sand castle. Even Nelson joined in, starting a splash fight that got everyone soaked. (We couldn't decide if Tails had won or should have been disqualified because he could use his namesakes as well as his hands and feet.) I was buried up to my neck in sand, we tossed about a ball, and come noon we all ate a delicious picnic lunch courtesy of Vanilla, Amy, and Ella. We all piled back in the car at three, sand-covered and hair wet. All the way back, we laughed and recalled the various mishaps and other events of the day. Even Tanaka said that it had been "an amusing and interesting day."

It got more interesting when we returned.

"See, wasn't that fun?" Lindsey beamed as we walked down the long driveway back to the house.

Chris nodded, "Yeah, Mom, it was—" He cut himself off and his eyebrows darted up. "Do you hear that?"

At this, Lindsey commanded all to "Be quiet!", although she needn't have done so—everyone fell silent, straining to hear. At first, I didn't hear anything, then—

"Music," Nelson noted in a hushed voice.

I strained to listen again—he was right. It was faint from the distance we were at, but it was music, and it was definitely coming from inside the house.

Tails swiveled his ear towards the house, as if to hear better.

"Somebody's playing the piano."

The unasked question hung in the air—who?

"Is it a recording?" I asked.

"Don't look at me," Ella said. "I turned off my radio before we left."

Amy suggested we walk closer and sneak inside the back door. Sure enough, it was our piano. We checked the security—the spare key was still in its spot. Somebody had entered after we'd left, somebody who knew the number code to the door.

"Sam can't play the piano, and his car isn't here," Lindsey whispered, sounding more frightened by the moment.

We lapsed into silence. Was somebody breaking into the house? But why would they come in just to play the piano?

A thoughtful look grew on Tails' face, and he looked at Amy. She met the gaze evenly, with the slightest of nods.

"What is it?" Chris whispered.

"…I think I know who it is," Tails replied, a smile creeping across his face.

As if catching onto the sudden realization, Cream started, "Oh! That's right! It's—"

"Shh, Cream! Let them see for themselves." Tails quickly put in, and she fell silent.

He and Amy led the way in, motioning with their hands and repeatedly putting a finger to their lips in the universal "shh" sign. As we got closer, the melodies became clearer—like nothing I'd ever heard—simple, but more complicated that Chris knew how to play (at least, not without a few sour notes).

From the kitchen to the parlor there is no door, only an opening underneath an arch, but if one stands in certain areas, they can see clearly into the parlor while still invisible to anyone that might be in there. We silently filed in, taking our places in said positions, Tails and Amy closest to the arch.

"Have a look," Tails murmured, a smile on his face.

As he went to look, Chris's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

He didn't even need to look at the scribbled-on page with handwritten chords and notes—his eyes were closed, as if he'd played it many times before. He seemed at ease with the size difference—he'd tied a block to his foot to reach the pedal and had no trouble reaching the octaves. The music suddenly, but seamlessly, changed to something wildly different—all with that same smile on his face.

"Sonic…"

For once, hearing his name didn't stir him—so lost he was in the swirling music that changed every minute—arrangements of the "zonal songs" of South Island, Westside Island, and more, as Tails told us later. Each "zone" had its own theme, he said, like our equivalent of state songs—but on Mobius, everything joined in on the music, including the wild plant and animal life. It would be then I would remember a conversation I had with Tails a few days prior, when he'd expressed a desire to go home. When I'd asked why, and why he wasn't happy here, he'd laughed—"Oh, I'm definitely happy here, Chuck," he'd assured me. "Just…there's things on Mobius you can't find here." Then I would understand what he meant—who in their right mind wouldn't miss this?

Then the music changed again, down to simpler chords.

I knew Tails, Amy, and Cream were very fond of music—Tails often hummed as he worked, and Amy and Cream would sing as they cooked or played.

But I never would have guessed that Sonic sang.

It doesn't matter who is wrong and who is right!

Open your heart, it's gonna be all right!

Live and learn, hanging on the edge of tomorrow...

"What were those?" Lindsey had asked later on, for even her brother Sam, with all his rock tracks, had never heard of them.

These…they were his, they said. He wrote them by himself, although usually they were played on guitar. He had one at home, a battered acoustic that sang along with him.

All were smiles all the way through.

His fingers lingered on the keys a moment longer, the last quiet chords still ringing: E-G and C-E. A silent sigh, a smile widened—the foot left the pedal and the fingers caressed the keys as they were lifted away.

And applause.

The eyes flew open—applause, a few "Bravo!"s from even those who knew he could all along—and for once, instead of a cocky grin, there was a slight tint of pink on those cheeks. "Y-you guys were listening?"

"It was kind of hard not to," Tails said, grinning, and Amy and Cream nodded.

"Why didn't you tell us you could play?"

"Well, I—"

"You were wonderful!"

"That wasn't—"

Finally, Chris blurted, "Who taught you how to play, Sonic?"

The smile instantly faded and he stopped looking at us, turning his gaze back to the black and white keys, lost again in the memories of a day we would never know. He began to close the piano, closing his eyes as he carefully replaced the cloth over the keys.

"…Sonic?"

He pulled the cover down, taking his time in taking his sheet music off the stand and untying the block from his foot.

"Sonic, I'm sorry, I—"

"My mother. She taught me."

The smile returned, though more wistful this time.

"But it was a long time ago."

Sonic never did a concert for us like that again, but in the coming weeks and months Chris practiced more often—he patiently ironed out the passages he missed, and Janine was pleasantly surprised with the improvement. A newfound devotion had consumed him, it seemed, and every approving nod from the hyperactive blue hero stimulated him further. "Bravo!"

When they returned to Mobius, lessons stopped for a few weeks. Chris was unable to steer himself towards the piano for the first couple days. One day, he sat at the piano, determined to play, only to play one note—two octaves above middle C—then tears welled up in his eyes and he had to put it away. Sonic's block solemnly sat on Janine's chair.

One month after they'd left, I found myself in the kitchen, sipping tea that Ella had prepared. The maid herself was outside picking flowers—"Flowers for Cream to keep Amy's cactus company," she said—and it was a quiet afternoon. The house was silent for once—we'd all been trying to keep busy to make up for the missing noise that they'd brought.

I heard a door open quietly and shut, then there were footsteps coming down the stairs: Chris's. Through the archway in the kitchen, I saw him walk to the parlor, plop himself onto the waiting bench, and open the piano. He stared at the keys for a good minute. Slowly, slowly, a hand came up, touched that same high C, then dropped to an A, and back to the C.

Slowly, patiently, he picked out a tune—the one called "Green Hill Zone".

I could've sworn I heard a whoosh sound—likely the wind, but it sounded so much like someone else coming to announce his arrival, laughing. You got it, buddy! This is my jam!

Chris's eyes flickered over to a small photo frame sitting in the windowsill—the five friends plus Chris himself, laughing and messing around, Sonic and Chris sharing the bench in front of the piano. Sonic was holding out a thumbs up at the camera, and the photo-Chris was smiling as broadly as could be.

The smile echoed on the real Chris's face—not as big as the photo's, but almost just as happy.

Although he scarcely plays anymore—so busy he's been with school and now his own inventions, determined to build a teleporter to his friends' world—every so often he opens the piano again and plays. And though he varies the tunes sometimes, he always plays "Green Hill Zone" at least once.

I swear the wind laughs every time.

A/N: So, whaddaya think? Please let me know!

A/N: A little bit about this particular piece... I play piano myself, and either my stuffed or plastic Sonic always has a place on the top. He sits next to the clock and watches me play Beethoven. :D

werewolf lover99: Aw, thanks. That's too bad you had to quit-although I didn't always like it at first, I'm very glad now that I stuck to piano. It's a nice way to relax for me.